


little ribs around you

by worry



Series: little bits of stardust [12]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Angels, M/M, THIS IS A WILD RIDE Y'ALL, no really. it is Wild, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 21:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8344024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worry/pseuds/worry
Summary: RAPHAEL IS BAD and this is indisputable, some other word or world or wraith biting at the cold. You are supposed to deceive as an angel, see, how many times does Camille have to tell him, they’re supposed to be scared and warped andthe angel that fell in love with the humandeserved it, because Love is the worst punishment possible.(Or: more about Raphael, and the angelic assassins.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [broken wings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8329129) by [worry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/worry/pseuds/worry). 



> So this is based on my other Angel AU, a prologue of sorts to worldbuild. It's written in this style because I tried to portray Raphael's otherness and simultaneous similarity to the concept of being human, and also because I kind of imagine Heaven being all jumbled like this lol
> 
> WARNINGS: implied physical/sexual abuse, death, gore (maybe?)

The first angel—

 

The first angel—

 

They don’t talk about that angel. They ripped those wings r i g h t o f f o f h i m, feathers  _bloody,_ sick pale gold on white, only few angels have white wings, Purity – what a  _waste._ They ripped everything a w a y, because angels  _donotlove_ mortals. Angels do not Love. Angels do not Love at all _ever_ because Love is a human, mortal concept and they’re all above it, the stupidity of it curling curling curling  _curling._ Disgusting leech, love.

 

Raphael had been his friend. Friendship is another stupidlyhuman concept, but he – he – he  _called_ Raphael “friend”. Friend! F r i e n d. Maybe that is why he was ripped apart – he didn’t know that Raphael is  _bad,_ that all angels are  _bad – that is the point of it, the point of the broken, breaking, curling, that is the Point, deception—_

RAPHAEL IS BAD and this is indisputable, some other word or world or wraith biting at the cold. You are supposed to deceive as an angel, see, how many times does Camille have to  _tell him,_ they’re supposed to be scared and warped and

 

the angel that fell in love with the human

 

deserved it, because Love is the worst punishment possible  _orsomethinglikethat._ He  _meant_ something, to the entirety of Heaven. Then he:

 

 _FELL._ In Love. Taken from Heaven, taken from holiness, right out of everyone’s memory (see: you know everything when you’re holy) (everything) ( _everything_ ) (until They, higher-ups, angels that are  _like_ demons  _like_ everything that they’resupposedtobeagainst muddled into one, decide that some knowledge is un _necessary and then They—)_

(rip it from you like ripping wings off of backs)

 

(No one remembers his name)

 

(Ma—)

 

You burn at the thought. If the memory is gone but you  _REMEMBER_ what is lost, if you dare to rebel and rebel and rebel and rebel by doing the forbidden hope of remembering, you burn. Lose feathers. It is supposed to stop you from thinking about the past, but all that Raphael does is think about-the-past, which means that he is always burning, or always suffering, or always falling, or something like that. Something like falling that _isn’t_ falling but is  _worse._ There is nothing, in this world,  _worse_ than being cast out because of ( _how disgusting)_ Love. (“You love me, dear, don’t you? Right, Raphael?”)

 

WRONG ANSWER.

 

The _pointofitall_ is: love is a falling thing, love is horrendous. Love makes you do despicable things, or love makes _them_ do despicable things _like_ ripping wings, fragile, off of a back.

 

(—angel hands are always cold but Camille’s hands always seem colder, her smile always seems sharper, her words sweeter. Angel hands—)

 

WRONG ANSWER.

 

* * *

 

 

His first assignment, firstperson, first trip down to earth (his insides are melted, on the trip down, meltedandreformed, she said it was part of the process, just part of the process, just—), is a little girl, little little  little, but then she Grows, tall and wide and sick, and she – and she picks up a bottle. Picks it right up, hands unholy and ripping, like pulling something out ! of ! Heaven !

 

She downs it in one drink, mouth pulling ichor out of a wingwound, hands warm around the bottle _oh, Raphael thinks, warmth, as opposed to cold, cold hands, cold heart, what about warmTH And Kindness and everything good—_

__

There is no concept of good here, there is no _real good and when Raphael_ kills her it is quick, she f a d e s  and then she               melts ! Like having your m i s p l a c e d humanity melted and reformed and that cycle, and then she               becomes Bone. Raphael has never seen Bone, _some of the other angels take them back as trophies says Camille **but** , _and the pr-oc-e _ss_ of decaying, says the doctor ?, takes time which means Raphael has been standing over this body (B o d y !) for – we _ll_ one-two-three plus three equals six, the sky is always some blinding shade of blue, these are human facts – a while, he has been here for _a while,_ concept of time rolling around in his stomach and Raphael thinks for a moment about:

 

Permanence.

 

P

  e

       r

          m

                 a

                        n

                                 e

                                       n

                                            c

                                                e.

 

                                                                                                                                UP,

Raphael doesn’t understand, he doesn’t understand why she won’t just get back            doesn’t understand why she won’t reanimate, _come back! COME BACK! Move again. Move—_

 

“You _killed_ her,” says Camille when he returns to heaven, skin-less and raw but it’ll grow back and _skin is a ghastlyconcept anyways_, afterbefore he took up a singular bone and presented it to her, beastjaw, _I’ve done good, I think, I don’t know, I—_

 

 

“How do you feel about that?”

 

 

“How am I supposed to feel?”

 

 

 **W R O N G A N S W E R ,** hisses what is hopefully Camille, voice shaking every part of Heaven, cracking at the cloudground.

 

 

* * *

 

 

His second assignment _hurts,_ is everything that they warned him about – everything that he’s experienced has _prep ared _him for this, this moment where he finally ends suffering, finally wraps his wings light-sick around the entirety of his home and

 

PROTECTS.

 

 

He’s built right UP of pain, discomfort in every cell and tinypart of his body, he scratches and bites and – and – and. And! He _loves._ Raphael has never seen anything like it – he causes so much pain, fire in his hands, but his hea _rt is big!!!_ Big. He has a big heart, so full of love that you can’t bury it, _oh this heart_ would transcend every grave, every broken part of Raphael’s mirror-existence.

 

 

If Raphael could sing, or had a voice that was beautiful, something other than a holy angelic _s c r e e e e e e c h,_ then he would sing to this lovecomposed boy. He: doesn’t have a voice, only some ghostlike terror – it would not be very

 

**Comfort** ing.

 

 

To it, as it died. The boy’s death in his arms. Would only scare him, and Raphael does not want to _s c a r e h i m,_ or anyone, not ! even ! the small animals, but this is because his eyes are not open, or however that story goes. That false story, the kind they make you read, _oh if only you knew the truth, the happenings of heaven, you would burn in these eyes. You would burn, and—_

 

 

 

Later they will write this             later they will write short stories about that life and

                                       down,

thin wings and bloody teeth or _oh,_ six plus six equals twelve, another fact, and maybe they’re already writing a story about it, maybe the hands are already on thetypewriterswhatevertheyusenowadays crafting these broken stories about “life”.

 

 

They all start to blur together after this, one big muddle of sickness and bluelight, frailty of Bone. Then—

 

 

Then—

 

 

S i m o n L e w i s .

 

 

Simon Lewis loves _and is_ good, but the problem is that they are never _good,_ he’s seen it before; little Emily-something-who wasn’t little, fourth-or-fifth assignment, walking folktale, who prayed and prayed and. Prayed. For someone to save her, from those Bones. Then – then – _then_ she prayed for heavenly death, which meant she had to _go, how many times does Camille have to_ tell him (again?), dumped in Raphael’s lap because no other angel would ever want her. She was

 

 

_Good._

 

And then she wasn’t. Everyone knows the powerof praying – they are never _good._ Raphael never wants to k i l l , **_but_** he has to do the right thing, the _good_ thing, dig right into the ground in _the wrong universe, oops, that doesn’t happen here. Oh no. Oh, no. No no no. THAT’S JUST NOT RIGHT._

 

Angels can see it all _see they can see it, they can See, _and in some otheruniverse there is a grave and a body and a grave and a body and a grave and a body and . a grave and . a body and a—

 

 

Picture! The picture, you get the picture, so many graves and so . many . bodies . and the taste of betrayal like hm something in his mouth that he has never held, never _anything because angels don’t eat they only see . things. like : breaking. The taste of betrayal in his mouth like the taste of human copper spillingblood, another thing he has never seen, when you Kill a human you scratch them but there’s never blood, never ever never ever never b l o o d, just ichor, just ichor, because they should be _FRIGHTENED in the presence of an angel. See? See? They see. Mortals need to be Frightened, fear personifying right in front of them because _angels don’t hurt, betrayal in his mouth, humans hurt right right right right right_

 

SEE?

 

 **So Simon** has a life - - - - - a _good_ one. Goodbut we’vealready covered that, right, right, _see._ But Simon—

 

 

He watches Simon _like  f       a        l         l           i      n         g, because_ That Is What You Do when you watch someone and you’re an angel, when you’re an angel with eyes and eyes and eyes and eyes that cover you, and hands (oh her hands) (they were so cold) (so _cold_ ripping and. scratching into Raphael’s angelflesh) (why) (why) (Why) that break, you watch and see them in every partofyou. See: this is where the story ends (don’t move) (I know you wanna find out how this story ends) (wrong universe) ( _see_ ), and begins.

 

 

_With Simon Lewis._

 

* * *

 

 

Simon’s voice is beautiful, he sings something about being forever young and Raphael thinks: what a concept, being young forever, being little and never old and never having to watch your body decay after – after time, but watching everyone else’s body (body?) fall right into sickness and age like falling like falling like what he used to do what is _forbidden_ everything is wrong because Love is the worst punishment and—

 

What if. Raphael had a voice like Simon’s, everything but that angelic s c r e e e e e c h, and could sing to. Those _things,_ assignments, in their deaths. What if! What if Raphael was—

 

 

Good.

 

 

Simon never stops being beautiful like that.

 

 

“You know how,” says the best friend, fire, “when you fall down, you don’t realize that you’ve fallen for a few seconds until it all clicks and you realize that you’re bleeding on the ground?”

 

 

 

“And the point to this question is…?” Simon asks, voice not like a song but just _normal,_ just _beautiful in a sickway._

 

“I think I’m in love,” she says, and Love – Love is the worst punishment _poss-ibl-e,_ but it’s also human. So so so so so frighteningly _human,_ but Raphael thinks about his second “assignment” and the graveyard heart and it and it and it

 

BURNS.

 

Feathers lost.

 

 

“Knew it,” Simon ---------- laughs! ---------- and it’s _beautiful,_ it’s all just so beautiful, this frightening humanity wrapped up into one thing, one beautiful package of Skin And Bone like a gift, they would stuff this kind of thing up and preserve it, hang it on walls as a trophy. That beastjaw kind of beautiful. The kind of beauty that you can keep forever and ever, _forever young, I wanna be forever young, I wanna be forever young, I wanna be forever young._

 

 

"How did you know?”

 

 

“You’re always calling her…”

 

 

Simon stops, looks up at the air _like_ looking into Raphael’s eyes and eyes and eyes, then his eyes flutter back, so _beautifully,_ to the best friend who Raphael cannot remember the name of.

 

 

“Beautiful. You’re always calling her beautiful.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He watches Simon Lewis for – for – for a _year,_ in mortaltime. He watches Simon but Simon never melts like the firstassignment did, never burns like the second one did, what a heart it had. But it feels like more, feels like _longer,_ feels like every year passing right through Raphael’s holyveins, making it all forever young. Raphael wants to be forever young. Raphael wants to be : foreveryoung, like song that Simon sings in some version of this story in _every version of this story oh. Oh, once upon a time…_

He watches Simon Lewis for one (plus one is—) year.

 

 

Until Camille’s voice bellows, cold hands, “What are you waiting for?”

 

 

(—two. Now there are two. There have always been twopeople in this, twopeople, Two People.)

 

 

Inside Raphael thinks:

 

 

_AMEN._

And about how:

 

 

Raphael is always calling him beautiful, Simon like a garden and trees and flowers and, and, and, Simon like water falling, like a waterfall, and – Simon like wings. He imagines his wings, dark, wrapped around what isn’t frail, what will never be frail.

 

 

Raphael is always calling him

 

 

B

 

E

 

A

 

U

 

T

 

I

 

F

 

U

 

L

 

 

which according to Simon, means—

 

 

The worst punishment possible.

 

 

(Amen.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So if you made it to the end of this I will give you my firstborn. It is messy! It is completely messy and bad but I don't feel like writing anything else today so [shrugs].
> 
> Anyway, please, please tell me what you think lmao! Thank you for reading, seriously.


End file.
